


Souvenirs

by nonelvis



Series: Across the Universe [5]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-20
Updated: 2010-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-12 01:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonelvis/pseuds/nonelvis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His weakness for humans persisted with every body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Souvenirs

**Author's Note:**

> An epilogue of sorts to [You That Way; We This Way](http://archiveofourown.org/works/40723). It is not necessary to have read that story first; all you need to know is that it involved Ten accidentally meeting up with (and eventually sleeping with) Rose and his duplicate.

The Doctor had a double-scoop cone of fig and honey gelato, an Agatha Christie paperback, and twenty minutes to kill before meeting Amy and Rory. Longer, possibly, since their protests of not yet having purchased enough souvenirs rang so hollow that the Doctor suspected they were still looking for just the right hover-gondola to have sex in.

Let them enjoy their honeymoon, now that they were finally together again: two people deliriously happy and in love after a couple of thousand years and an entirely new universe. A beautiful thing to observe, even if the Doctor was only tagging along as chauffeur and tour guide – safe, friendly roles that tamped down the desire to chip away at certain boundaries, never mind who'd built those boundaries in the first place, or how artificial they might be.

His weakness for humans persisted with every body, made his knees buckle at the most inopportune times. Willpower and hundreds of years of practice were usually enough to keep himself from stumbling into the sort of relationship he was barely prepared to deal with, no matter how much he might want it.

Usually enough, but not always.

He sighed, cracked open his book, folded one leg over the other, and was almost completely settled in on a stone bench when Rose walked by.

Her hair was a darker shade of blonde now, more deep amber than the straw that had fringed her knit cap when he'd last seen her; her face was a little rounder, a little fuller, and the cut of her clothes was a few years too new for this time period on Venezia XII. She was by him so quickly he was stuck mid-lick of fig (mulberry notes, slightly cloying, a touch too many seeds) before he realised for certain who he'd just seen.

When had he brought her here? He didn't remember that at all, but they'd visited so many places, and he was getting old, so very old, while Rose looked nearly as young as ever. She was gone now, lost in the throng heading in and out of the main entrance to the marketplace, while here he was stuck on his bench, pale custard droplets speckling his hand. He swiped his tongue across his skin, keeping his eyes on where he'd last seen Rose.

The whisper of another presence wafted through his head. Now that really _was_ suspicious, far more so than seeing his former companion somewhere she wasn't supposed to be, assuming she wasn't merely a figment of an old man's overactive imagination. Not that Venezia XII was closed to telepaths, but this specific whisper, the way it slipped into his thought patterns almost effortlessly, it was too clever. Too much like another one of his people. Come to think of it, too much like himself.

He took a deep breath and concentrated on tracing the whisper. His people had never been good at distance telepathy, but retained an instinctive ability to sense one another, not that he'd had much call to do that since the war. _Concentrate ... concentrate ... even out the honey ice cream before it drips again ... ooh, now the fig/honey ratio's gone wrong, better even out the fig, too ... concentrate ... really quite well-balanced as honey ice cream goes, isn't it? Not too sweet ... CON-CEN-TRATE ..._

"Here," Rose said, handing the Doctor a paper napkin. "There's a bit on your chin, just there."

He wiped his chin, folded the napkin in two, and smoothed it down over his right thigh. Rose stood and watched, hand clasped with a ghost in a blue suit, a man the Doctor could no longer call his duplicate, but who'd been part of him all the same.

"See, Rose, I told you we'd meet up with one of me sooner or later," said the other man. "Inevitable, like the laws of thermodynamics, or your mother yelling at me."

"She only does it 'cause she loves you. "

"Still, it's so much easier to appreciate her affection from a distance." His eyes flicked over the Doctor. "Now, then, which one are you?"

"The next one," replied the Doctor.

"What happened?"

"I died."

"Tremendous help you are, as usual."

Rose shook her head. "Not this again. Look," she said, nudging her Doctor, "if you start the pre-launch sequence, we can still make it out on time."

"Fifteen minutes – that's all I can give you. Don't be late."

"Don't worry," she said, kissing his cheek. "See you soon."

The Doctor caught his younger counterpart's eye briefly. "Promise I'll send her back to you," he said, and only then did the other man nod slightly and turn to go.

Rose sat down beside the Doctor. "Still making my decisions for me?" she asked. "New body, same bad habits."

"You can stay with me if you like. You could even stay here on Venezia XII if you like. But I don't think you will."

"No," Rose said. "I'm going with him."

"Good. That's good."

Rose fidgeted in her seat, hands clasped tightly together between her knees. Any minute now she'd probably make that disarming half-chuckle she made when she was nervous or uncertain, but it didn't seem right to leap into the conversation, guess at what she was thinking, even if the Doctor was fairly certain he knew what it was.

"Can I?" Rose finally asked, and reached a hand tentatively towards his face.

"Of course."

She traced the line of his cheek, cupped it with her palm, then slipped her hand into his hair, combing it between her fingers. He'd almost forgotten how soothing her touch was.

"You look so young now," she said.

"Can't be helped. I kept the fringe, though – nice, liked the fringe. Would have liked it more in ginger, but you know. Luck of the draw."

"What really happened?" she whispered.

"Radiation overdose. I saved someone's life, but it killed me instead. Mind you, the man I saved ... one of the finest human beings I've ever met. You all deserve saving, but him – him especially."

"Then you did the right thing."

"I thought so." He leaned into Rose's hand, covered it with his own. "What are you doing here, Rose?"

"We found this transdimensional hole thing. I don't really understand how it works, but it brought us back to this universe."

"A transdimensional wormhole? But those are unbelievably rare – do you know how lucky you are to have found one? They only form around dimensional weak spots in the universe, so when you fold space-time, you allow two dimensions to touch, like so." He crimped the fabric of his trousers, bringing two parallel folds together. "Now, this is how a typical wormhole works, and this" – he made another crease, perpendicular to the first two – "is the crossover point between dimensions, and -"

Rose waved him off, laughing. "Don't bother. The Doctor tried to explain it to me just like that, and I didn't get it then either. Anyway, it's not far from here, but he says it's closing soon. That's why I have to meet him in -"

"Twelve and a half minutes."

"Thanks," she said. "Ice cream's melting again," she added, and leaned in, digging a groove in the gelato with her tongue. The Doctor's breath hitched for a moment as he watched her, remembering the slide of her tongue against his own, the sweet and human taste of every part of her.

Rose licked her lips, and damned if that wasn't just as distracting as her approach to ice cream. _Humans._ The other half of his weakness: that when he fell, he fell completely.

"You want the rest?" he asked. "I think I'm done."

"Nah. But thanks."

He chucked the cone in a nearby bin and wiped stickiness from his hands. There; one temptation down, anyway.

"So, we just got back from Earth," said Rose. "Blimey, Mickey and Martha! That was a surprise. But a good one; it's good that they're together."

Ah, _there_ was the half-chuckle he'd been expecting.

"People move on, Rose. They have to," he said.

"No, I really am happy for him. It's just sort of ... _weird_ seeing your ex with someone else, you know?"

The Doctor bit back a smile, and mostly succeeded.

"What?" Rose asked.

"Nothing."

"I've been with him for five years now, Doctor – you think I haven't seen every one of your tricks?"

"No tricks, Rose. Just happy to see you happy."

"You'd better be," she said, and grinned. "So, what about you? You travelling with anyone now?"

"Yes – a young couple – well, they're all young compared to me now, aren't they? Amy and Rory. On their honeymoon, as a matter of fact. I took them to Venice, the Venice on Earth, a little while ago. Thought they'd enjoy seeing a version without any fish-vampires this time."

"Fish-vampires?"

"All gone now. Pity. Under different circumstances, they might have been perfectly nice fish-vampires. It's that 'take over the city, remake it in our own image' approach I always find a bit dodgy."

"Not one of my Doctor's favourites, either."

"No. No, it wouldn't be," he said. "I think you'd like them. Amy and Rory, that is. Not fish-vampires. In fact, there they are now. Still meaning 'Amy and Rory.' Not fish-vampires."

He nodded towards the souvenir stall at the outskirts of the marketplace, where his companions were rifling through a tall stack of gondolier hats. Rory's arm was draped over Amy's hip, and Amy momentarily leaned her head against him, red hair cascading over Rory's shoulder. When she selected a hat with a thick, lime-green ribbon at the brim and twirled round for Rory to admire her in it, even far away, the Doctor could see the glow in her smile, the excitement when she showed off her prize for Rory's approval.

Who was the Doctor to interfere with that, no matter how much he might want to?

"Oh," Rose said. "I see."

"See what?"

"Which one of them is it, then? The redhead? Wish I had the legs to pull off a skirt like that. The husband's not bad either, but you know what a man with messy brown hair does to me."

"Rose ..."

"Unless ... ooh, is it both of them? You dirty old man!" She shook her head. "Well, at least I'm used to it by now."

"Rose, I'm not -"

"I bet you haven't said a thing to them yet, have you?"

"About _what_?"

"You know. The sort of thing you should have said to me. About how you really felt."

"That's absurd. I don't -"

"You do," she insisted with a slight, rueful smile. "It's so obvious. I can't believe I missed it all those years. And you do it just the same now!"

The Doctor crossed his legs, uncrossed them, crossed them again. Always could throw him off-balance, Rose, and years living with his counterpart had clearly only improved her judo skills.

"What makes you think I have anything to tell them?" he asked, voice clipped.

"The way you look at them," she said. "It's the same way you always looked at me – the same way you've been looking at me the entire time we've been sitting here. Like there's no one else in the world but me. Or them."

"That's ridiculous. There are plenty of other people in the world besides you, Rose, and besides them."

"Suit yourself," she said. "You want to moon about the TARDIS instead of saying anything, go right ahead."

Amy was now spinning the hat on her finger in front of Rory, who handed it to the vendor and leaned over to kiss Amy with the sort of tenderness that led the Doctor to believe they'd finally found that hover-gondola after all.

Jealousy was too human an emotion for him to admit to. Surely that twinge he felt must be something else: perhaps simply a headache from the gelato.

"I'm not saying you're right," he began slowly, "because you humans see patterns that aren't always there. You're hard-wired that way. But if you _were_ right ... wouldn't it be weird seeing your ex with someone else?"

"Maybe a little." Rose brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, twisting the lock round her finger. "All right, maybe more than a little, but I'll be okay."

She was quiet for a moment, then drew in a breath and turned to face him, that rueful smile back again. "I used to think I could have all of you," she said.

"I think you did. Quite enjoyable, as I recall."

"Shame we've only got – how long? We could do it again."

"A minute and a half, give or take a second."

"Mmm, I'm good, but I'm going to need more than that to work with." Rose stood up, patted wrinkles out of her anachronistic trousers. "It's okay with me. Really. I have you – my own you – and he's enough of a handful for me. Time to let you be someone else's problem."

"I prefer to think of myself as more of an unexpectedly pleasant inconvenience."

"Oh yeah," Rose said, bending close to him. "'Unexpectedly pleasant,' all right."

She tasted of figs and honey, and he made sure the kiss took every second of their last minute together, plus a few stolen from time she no longer had with him. Stealing time from himself was hardly stealing at all, and besides, he knew he couldn't keep her with him anyway. They both belonged to others now.

Rose let him go seventeen seconds late, and slipped wordlessly away into the crowd.

* * *

Hand in hand with Rory, Amy bounded up to the Doctor and thrust a hat at him.

"Souvenir," she said. "One for each of us, because anything's better than that fez." She waggled her eyebrows mischievously and added, "But I thought I saw you get your own special souvenir. Who's the mystery blonde?"

"Old friend." The Doctor got up from the bench, and flipped the hat up his arm and onto his head, prompting spontaneous applause from Amy.

"Looked like more than a friend to us, Doctor," Rory said. "Unless you let all your friends kiss you like that."

The Doctor smiled to himself and started walking them towards the TARDIS. "Some of them," he said. "Perhaps you'll find out one day."


End file.
